Thief of All Trades
by Minalover
Summary: Four words: I hate Heero Yuy. Well, then again, who doesn't? Or, wait, do I? language, boyxboy, 2x1


Woohoo! Yeah, it's okay. I'm not thoroughly in love with this piece, so I may not keep writing it. It was a two-hour block with nothing to do. Enjoy!

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It used to be so green outside. Then the winter came and everything died. People always say, "Oh no! Nothing died! It all just went to sleep!" Yeah. Sure. A-huh. The whole world just up and takes a nap. All at once. Let's go with that.

Breakfast with the guys was as it always is. Wufei was in the corner of the table, eating a big bowl of rice, one chopstick-load at a time. Trowa sat next to him, with a plate full of scrambled eggs and sausage, which he promptly cut into equal bite-sized pieces and then stabbed into colorful patterns on his fork. Quatre was in the kitchen, making what looks to be the omelette he makes me every morning. Good little housewife, he is. I never asked him to – still don't. But, for some reason passing understanding, I wake up every morning to a bacon-ham-and –jalapeño omelette. Heero, of course, isn't here. I think I've seen him at breakfast. Once. Maybe. He's a little too obsessed with his work, and is always a little too eager to return to it. It's like I never see him anymore. I didn't see him much in the first place, but that doesn't exactly stop me from wanting to.

See, in weird, totally logical yet utterly unexplainable way, I kinda sorta maybe am almost entirely in love with Heero. Don't ask, I couldn't give you a reason if I wanted to. He makes me go all maternal. Stupid fucker. Ah well, not much I could do about it, even if I wanted to.

I sat down to my giant omelette, quite excited for the breakfast I was about to inhale, when Heero opened the front door. He took off his black pilot jacket and threw it on the couch. He has a fresh wound underneath his right eye. _That's odd_, I thought. _No one's landed a punch at Heero in, well, ever._ It's not like it was odd for him to come home with some sort of scar from fighting, but it was quite odd for him to come home looking like he had **lost** a fight. _Oh well,_ I thought. _Not like he'll talk about it with me._ No one else seemed to notice that he had gotten home. I smiled at him, as I did every time I got the chance to, and then went back to my omelette. I began to eat, and when I put my fork back down, my plate was gone.

"Fuck!" I screamed. "Where's my omelette?"

I turned around just in time to see my omelette walk out of the room.

"What the fuck, asshole?!" I screamed again, standing, infuriated. I promptly marched my happy ass down the hall and into my bedroom, where Heero the Omelette Stealer was sitting on my bed, eating my breakfast.

"Good omelette," he told me.

"Yeah, I know. That's why I eat it every morning. Now, if you don't mind, can I have it back?"

"No."

I looked down at the plate and sighed. Asshole ate the whole thing.

"So, why'd you steal my breakfast?"

"Because it looked tantalizing. Tempting, even."

Tempting. Tantalizing. I was beginning to care less and less about the omelette.

"Where were you this morning?" I asked. I asked all the time, but maybe he'd answer this time.

"Same place I am every morning."

Great. Not helpful, Heero.

"But you were home this morning. You're never home in the morning."

"I had something special to do this morning. A small, unimportant mission."

So THAT'S where that cut came from! Ha! I win! I got an answer out of him! Take that, world!

"So, why do you care?" he asked, totally breaking my inner-monologue of a victory dance.

"Cause I worry about you, stupid," I giggled. I was still in my closet, pretending to look for something when I looked back at him. He was staring at me like I had sprouted a third arm from my nose. His eyes were wide and gaping: little oceans, ever deep, very wide, and a dark and ominous steel blue. A smile cracked across my face as I walked towards him. He got defensive, like an animal backed into a corner, as I sat down next to him. I placed a hand on his shoulder and it looked as though he was about to punch me.

"Yes Heero, I worry about you. All the time. I freak out when you don't come home. You make my life better just by being in it. Of course I worry." I looked at him, hugging him as hard as I could with my eyes, squeezed his shoulder, and stood up. I took the plate from his lap and walked out, back into the hallway.


End file.
